<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A Brand New Angle (Highly Commendable) by SupernovaRemnants</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22935877">A Brand New Angle (Highly Commendable)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupernovaRemnants/pseuds/SupernovaRemnants'>SupernovaRemnants</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Crowley Sucks At Resisting A Temptation, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love, M/M, No beta we fall like Crowley, Plot What Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Romantic Romping, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Smut, Tenderness, The Bookshop Does Like Its Owner To Have His Fun, romantic smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 08:06:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,252</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22935877</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupernovaRemnants/pseuds/SupernovaRemnants</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>.</p><p>Crowley’s eyebrows rise in fascination one by one, as Aziraphale bends his knees to gather papers from a small table, his rear posing perfectly for Crowley to admire the swelling of his thighs, the soft roundness of his buttocks.</p><p>Satan, his Angel knows he loves his behind. Why does he ... ?</p><p>Oh.</p><p>.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>87</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Brand New Angle (Highly Commendable)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I sincerely do hope Freddie appreciates me using his lyrics.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">„Oh, dear, it appears I‘m really clumsy today!“ Aziraphale says, and a subtle note in his words makes Crowley open up his eyes.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">„Ummm, why‘s that, love?“ he asks lazily, still halfway enveloped in the cosiness of his late-afternoon nap on the sofa in the bookshop‘s back room. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He‘s had his all-morning nap and, following a relaxed lunch with Aziraphale at this lovely new cafe that‘s opened just around the corner, resolved to an early-afternoon nap. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As there‘s absolutely no point really in getting up while Aziraphale is still busy with discouraging customers from buying books, he stayed sprawled all over the sofa for the later afternoon and napped on, even cosier after Aziraphale had tucked him in with the old red and gold damask blanket.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">Aziraphale. His adorable caring Angel, his Love for six thousand years, and now his Lover for some six months.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley knows for sure there is a God, and sometimes he catches himself reciting silent prayers of thanks to Her for all that has happened. Must be that blasted heavenly influence that’s rubbing off Aziraphale when their bodies so delightfully rub on each other, time after time again since their very own revelations last fall. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">„This book just keeps slipping out of my hands. Slithery little thingy it is.“ Aziraphale blinks his trademark little glance to Crowley before modestly closing his eyes again, turning around and making a big fuss about picking up the book. Which is a rather thick volume of Charles Dickens, bound in leather and clearly not slick at all. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Unlike Aziraphale, who bends forward to pick up the book in a way that presents his bottom in a most becoming manner. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now Crowley is wide awake. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He watches his Angel shuffle and turn. Crowley’s eyebrows rise in fascination one by one, as Aziraphale bends his knees to gather papers from a small table, his rear posing perfectly for Crowley to admire the swelling of his thighs, the soft roundness of his buttocks. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Satan, his Angel knows he loves his behind. Why does he ... ? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oh. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Aziraphale straightens himself up as Crowley shifts into sitting, and shoots a tiny glace to him, just to check if his Demon is watching. (*) </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(* He is, the correct term thoughrather being ‚gaping open mouthed in awe‘). </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Leisurely the angel looks around the bookshop and his gaze gets caught by an unmissable stain on the beforehand spotless floor. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">„Dear me, now look at that!“ Aziraphale gets down on his knees and bends forward to rub away the soil. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley looks at that, indeed, but his interest is clearly not on housekeeping issues. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">„Angel!“ he whispers, mesmerised by his Angel‘s butt bopping in an excruciatingly slow rhythm forwards and backwards as the angel pretends to clean the floor. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">„My bastard Angel!“ Crowley mutters appreciatively, then „Oh, for fuck‘s sake!“ he blurts and jumps to his feet to chase after this heavenly tempting behind. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Aziraphale has heard him rising and scrambles to his feet, eyes wide, to run from the charged demon. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Only the crammed bookshop won‘t allow for running (it does like it‘s owner to have his fun), so Aziraphale’s more scampering in front of the demon. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley indeed catches up fast and grabs Aziraphale rather rough by his arm. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">„Angel, ‘m sorry, didn’t wanna hurt you,“ he splutters an apology, but Aziraphale looks a lot more excited than hurt and squeaks „Green! The flag is green!“</span>
</p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s1">„What</span><span class="s2">???</span></em> <span class="s1">“</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley stares at his Angel. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then all pieces fall into place, and he eyeballs him with anewed admiration. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So that‘s why Aziraphale had this conversation with Madame Tracy on their last visit there, about her evening jobs and how to code consent. That‘s why his Angel made sure he was listening, calling out to him „Dear me, now, Crowley did you know about this thing with flag colours?“ „Crowley, what fascinating means of communication these humans have come up with!“ „Crowley, didn‘t I have any clue!“ </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Well, he clearly has a clue now and the prey he’s chosen is more than willing. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">„Green! Crowley, green!“ Aziraphale’s tone is getting imperative, if not impatient. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley doesn’t hide his smirk anymore. „Is that so, Angel?“ he rasps, his heart suddenly racing and his look drawn again to Aziraphale’s waistline and below. His eyes linger on the cherished roundness of his Angel‘s butt, and he takes in the promising bulk expanding at his front. Both of their fronts, to be precise. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley lets go of Aziraphale’s arm, and the angel scuttles away to the back room, Crowley chasing closely behind. Chasing Aziraphale’s tantalising behind, to be precise.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There‘s the sofa. The very sofa where they‘ve sat for centuries chastely opposite each other, immersed in conversation and getting drunk on exquisite wines. The very sofa where they‘d lie on together so often in the last months, immersed in each other, and being drunk with the most exquisite infatuation. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The very sofa Aziraphale runs to now, to stop just in front of it, looking over his shoulder, to allow for Crowley to catch up. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley bumps softly into him, pushing Aziraphale over onto the sofa, while steadying his Angel by gripping his hips, just as he realises that both of them are stark naked all of a sudden. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now, if that isn’t flashing green code for invitation. His Angel tempting him, on his knees, presenting himself in a brand new, perfect angle just in front of him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A wave of lust surges up in Crowley, concomitant with a storm tide of love. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">This adorable Angel, once more he‘s got him </span> <em><span class="s3">exactly</span></em> <span class="s1"> where he wanted him. Oh fuck, Crowley thinks, how he loves his Angel, and how he loves to fuck his Angel, and how he‘s going to fuck his Angel right now. Just as this beloved bastard had planned all along. Obviously. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley curtly checks if his Angel is ready for him, which of course he is. Obviously. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">„Green, green!“ Aziraphale squeals excitedly, as if Crowley needed a reminder to get a wiggle-on. Really. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley assays his Angel’s readiness gently, pushing softly, and then drowns himself fully into his Angel, holding roughly on to his hips. His breathing, unnecessary but so exhilarating as it is, instantly becomes ragged.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">„Oh, Crowley! You‘re so good! It’s all green! Are you mightier today, I wonder?“ </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Even after all these months Crowley’s still perplexed how Aziraphale can manage to speak in coherent sentences with polite circumlocution while being fucked to his core. (*)</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(* He‘s willing to take upon himself any time and opportunity, though, that‘ll be needed to unravel this mystery.)</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley halts for a moment, close to pulling out. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">„Too much, Angel? Should I ...?“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">„No, no, you‘re perfect, do go on, love, please. It was just a little unexpected. Please, I beg you, do go - on!“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The last word turns into an enraptured squeak again as Crowley pushes himself to the hilt back into his Angel, being all enraptured himself by the tightness of his Angel‘s body and the sight of Aziraphale’s back writhing in rhythm with his own thrusts. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley‘s hands find their way to Aziraphale’s firm buttocks, his lower back, caressing his soft skin, relishing the tone of Aziraphale’s flexing muscles underneath the facade of this so soft skin. He bends forward, pushing in as deep as he might, in perfect rhythm with his Angel’s greedy backward thrusts. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His hands travel to Aziraphale’s chest, stroking these downy curls that decorate his body so splendidly, moving on to his abdomen, to finally come to rest on Aziraphale‘s swollen, hardcock. Crowley strokes his length languidly, and then his grip tightens, giving himself a counterpoint for his thrusts inside his Angel‘s body.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">„Oh, Cowley, you‘re so kind!“ Aziraphale ejects gratified. Crowley can’t help but grunt in response, desperately.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">„Angel, don’t do this, you know what‘ll happen.“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He plunges himself into Aziraphale‘s body, succeeding his soul that’s been completely soused in his Angel‘s kind love for so long already. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">„It‘s just, you thinking of me, dearest, while you are ... Oh, yes, darling! You‘re feeling so good, so - truly ...“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Aziraphale trails off, losing his words finally as ecstasy takes over, sweeping his angelic brain with passion and want. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley jubilates in his heart, <em>this</em> is true rapture for him, when he is the reason that Aziraphale is lost for words, this is the best indication that whatever he does, he makes his Angel happy, and he‘d do and give anything to make his Angel happy.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley thrusts faster with this additional stimulus, his grip tightens, though one of his palms makes its path up to the tip of Aziraphale’s cock, to welcome the very proof of his Angel‘s delight that leaks from the top. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">„... good! So good!“ Aziraphale cries out, and Crowley knows his Angel’s close, both of them are so close now, and he picks up speed, and vigour, and virtuosity, he knows this spot that will bring his Love over the edge, and he uses this knowledge, and -</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">„Crowley! Oh Crowley!“ Aziraphale exclaims in utter ecstasy, and Crowley can hear the glee in his voice, and he knows what his Angel will cry out next, he‘s going to do it, oh, this bastard of a cheeky angel, he‘s going to bring him down completely. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All of a sudden Crowley yearns to hear these words from his Love, although he knows they‘re going to break him, hear these words that’ll shatter his demonic soul, peeling off all wiles, leaving him bare. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">„Crowley! You‘re so loving, so nice, so kind ...!“</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And there Crowley goes, spilling all his love into his angel, gripping his angel, feeling his Angel explode as well, and both shiver and gasp and laugh, and suddenly wings are out, white wings nestling upwards around Crowley’s sides while black ones snuggle downwards to engulf both of them, as they are breaking open, still holding tight onto each other, carried off by spasms sweeping through their bodies, sealed together and not able to distinguish boundaries anymore.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For a few moments the world consists of nothing but their ecstatic breathing and their sweating, quivering bodies, wordless pledges of their love.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At last these bodies break down on the sofa, all drained and spent, though glowing from the rapturous delight they‘ve just endowed each other with. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley’s still inside Aziraphale, clinging on to him, not willing to part, not yet, still flying high on being encompassed by his Angel’s love. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His wings stabilize their weight, and his chest is fondled by these soft white feathers when he bends forward once more to whisper into his Love’s ear „You said them. You really said them. You know that they‘ll break me open and make me come, you beloved bastard.“ </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">„Hmmm,“ Aziraphale hums, and Crowley can distinctly hear the satisfaction in his Angel‘s voice. „And you do love it, admit it.“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">„I do love you, Angel, admittedly.“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley covers his Love‘s back with gentle kisses, wherever his lips can comfortably reach (which is quite a range due to his bendy body), until the urge for Aziraphale’s still gleeful lips takes over and they part. Only to cuddle up into each other immediately again on the miraculously cleaned sofa, and their lips merge as close as their bodies did. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Many kisses later Aziraphale falls asleep in Crowley’s wings, and Crowley saunters into this trancelike state of relaxed contentedness that he only gets into after a good day‘s rest and a good deal of extensive lovemaking. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He takes in the sight of Aziraphale’s drowsy features, relaxed and glowing with happiness, radiating love even in his sleep. It‘s rather novel for his Angel to sleep at all. It happens exclusively after a good deal of extensive lovemaking, snuggled up to Crowley, the angel usually <em>not</em> having had a full day‘s rest beforehand. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley looks at him, his long fingers gently playing in his Angel’s soft curls, blowing tender kisses onto his Love with every unnecessary breath. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley feels so much in love, he loves this heavenly bastard with all his heart, with all his soul, with every cell of this body. And, even more, Crowley feels loved, he feels and knows that he‘s loved in return. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowley smiles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Slowly he too drifts off into relaxed sleepiness, to join his Angel in lovely dreams, embracing his Love with arms and soul and wings.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Outside, the world keeps on bustling. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A very complacent dingy old bookshop in Soho, London, pretty laid-back decides to change its erratic shop hours sign to a considerably simpler ‚Closed for the time being‘. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After having had to witness more than two centuries of repressed yearning unrivaled in any of its novels in stock, it does like its owner to have his fun, and it certainly deems its owner and his Love to deserve a relaxed nap for as long as they like. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If the bookshop could smile, it would be grinning like the Cheshire Cat (*).</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(*even more than in that illustration on page 91 in its first edition sitting on the top row of the third shelf in the western section - the shop knows where it keeps its books, even if its owner loses track sometimes). </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But of course, it can’t, and so it’s only the humans hurrying by who start to smile for ineffable reasons, their hearts uplifted by love, uplifted by a river of love cascading out of the discerned building, flowing from an old sofa in the bookshop’s back room, on which an angel and a demon rest from making love, limbs and wings still entwined, smiling at each other in their sleep. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If anybody would’ve told me a year ago I‘d ever write anything, let alone anything like this, I‘d told them to shut up ...<br/>Well, here we are.</p><p> </p><p>Yeah, I know, the bookshop does own a copy of Alice’s Adventures illustrated by Mabel Lucie Attwell.<br/>Today (Feb 28th) though happens to be Sir John Tenniel’s 200th birthday, so I’m leaving this absolutely superfluous piece of information in.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>